


Safety

by wrabbit



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: Comment Fic, Community: shkinkmeme, Formerly Anonymous, Gen, Implied Sibling Abuse, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-20
Updated: 2011-08-20
Packaged: 2017-10-22 20:38:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrabbit/pseuds/wrabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes is uncomfortable with the idea of spending the night at his brother Sherringford's, that much is obvious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safety

**Author's Note:**

> Criticism: Welcome

Holmes was at it again. Restless pacing all day, walking from station to station with an unlit pipe between his teeth. He had been twisting and turning in his chair for the last hour and it was the slight quiver of his fingertips as he moved to refill his pipe that finally did it.

"Are you sure you're all right, old cock?"

Watson spoke almost without intending to, Holmes's restlessness making him anxious and unfocused in turn. He had been desiring his bed since the first sign of sunset, but he stayed. He had long given up on writing, instead producing a dozen inky renditions of the hat, the ink pot, the compass and the sextant on his desk on the paper in front of him - all wobbly and unsymmetrical. It was impossibly to read, even to think, in such brooding silence.

Holmes's open face twitched up in surprise, his fingers fumbling for the pipe's bowl. "Yes, yes," he said. "Perfectly... perfect."

Watson watched him fiddle with the tobacco for a few seconds more.

"You think too loudly," he said.

Holmes's lip twisted. "It's not my fault it is past your bedtime." He lit a match at last.

Watson rolled his eyes and continued to black out a particularly bad piece of art in his writing notebook, slowly transforming it into the silhouette of a woman. "I'm worried about tomorrow," he said, ignoring Holmes's glance. "What if your brother doesn't like me?"

Holmes grunted.

Watson watched Holmes brood over his pipe, his knees drawn up to his chin in his chair. "What room will they put us in for the night?"

Holmes took the pipe from his mouth and twisted it back and forth so as to nearly lose the coal into his lap as he answered. "You'll be in the guest's quarters," he said.

"Which are?"

"In the West wing."

"And you'll be in the East?"

"Yes."

Holmes was getting irritated. Watson took pity on him. "Then I shall be in the East."

He knew he had made the correct decision when Holmes's restless fingers came to a stop, and the man turned to gaze into the fireplace instead of at his own face.

"I just wouldn't be comfortable elsewhere. I'm sure Sherringford will understand, it being just the three of us."

Watson took a slow breath, sure resolve settling in his stomach when Holmes betrayed no response but utter stillness.

Holmes looked up as though startled out of deep contemplation as Watson began to organize his papers in preparation for bed. "You do insist? My word, if you cannot stand to be without me for a single night, I suppose we must make allowances -- "

Watson shot him a look. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight. Mother hen."

If Watson heard a near silent, quaver of a breath of relief before he completely shut the door, he is sure he imagined it.


End file.
